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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27941810">We're Just Having Fun</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/anignoranthistorian/pseuds/anignoranthistorian'>anignoranthistorian</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Anne with an E (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AWAE Advent, Advent Calendar, Christmas fic, Kindred Spirits, Shirbert</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:08:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,267</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27941810</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/anignoranthistorian/pseuds/anignoranthistorian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know,” Anne said, turning her attention back to the bowl. “It hardly matters if Gilbert is home for dinner, or comes home before I leave. I see him every day at school, every Sunday at church, so I don’t even consider his presence when I decide to come visit. Really I’m coming to see you and Bash.”</p><p>“Is that right?” Mary disguised her laugh as a cough. “That makes a lot of sense, Anne.”</p><p>“My resolution, going into the New Year, is to dwell firmly in rationality. I am turning sixteen this coming year, and I think it’s certainly time to focus on the logical.”</p><p>It would seem we all aim for sense when all sense of logic is crumbling around us in romantical heaps. </p><p>A Christmastime one shot featuring the one Christmas we don't see, and the only one with Mary. </p><p>Written as part of the Kindred Spirits Advent Calendar</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>100</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Kindred Spirits Advent Calendar</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>We're Just Having Fun</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Marilla would disown me if she knew how much cinnamon I was using,” Anne said with a frown as the front door creaked open.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about that now,” said Mary from her perch in front of the kitchen fire, hand on her stomach. “We’re just having fun.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Disown you?” Bash’s voice called from the entryway. They gave him a moment to remove his boots, his coat. In stocking feet he came into the kitchen, warming his hands at the fire beside his wife. “I wouldn’t risk it if I were you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry Anne,” Mary said with a wink. “If you’re disowned, you can come live here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because that’s just what we’ll need with a baby,” Bash said, running a hand through his snow-dampened hair. “More children.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anne laughed, though Mary’s lips pulled into a tight line. Anne watched Bash lean down and kiss her forehead and whisper a quiet apology. The girl turned her attention back to her batter, feeling intrusive.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mary was quiet for a long minute, her gaze fixed on the fire. “Did I say anything wrong?” Anne had taken the time to work up to the question.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no, honey: I just miss my boy.” She rearranged herself in her rocking chair to get a better look at her culinary student. “You sure are taking your time on those cookies, Queen Anne,” she said with a smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is it really so very long?” Anne said, slowly stirring.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know, Gilbert’s out playing hockey,” Mary said casually, working hard to keep the mirth from her voice. “I’m sure he’ll be hungry when he comes home. You want to stay for dinner, too?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mary watched Anne’s face pale. “Will he be here soon?” She asked quietly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Any minute now, I’m sure of it,” she said with another of her winks, this time making the blood rush to Anne’s cheeks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know,” Anne said, turning her attention back to the bowl. “It hardly matters if Gilbert is home for dinner, or comes home before I leave. I see him every day at school, every Sunday at church, so I don’t even consider his presence when I decide to come visit. Really I’m coming to see you and Bash.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that right?” Mary disguised her laugh as a cough. “That makes a lot of sense, Anne.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My resolution, going into the New Year, is to dwell firmly in rationality. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am </span>
  </em>
  <span>turning sixteen this coming year, and I think it’s certainly time to focus on the logical.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With that, the door opened once more, the telltale creak in harmony with a call of “Mary! Mary, where are you? One of the laces on my skate completely fell apart. Do we have--” Just then, Gilbert saw through to the kitchen, saw that Mary was not alone. “Oh,” he said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Conscious of Mary’s eyes on them and a wicked grin on her face, Anne made a strong effort to dwell in logic. This being said, the thoughts she’d been having for her neighbor in the preceding weeks had </span>
  <em>
    <span>certainly </span>
  </em>
  <span>not been logical. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well hello to you, too,” Anne said, settling her eyes on that place on his forehead that she had found in November, as it avoided the following troublesome areas: brows, eyes, and chin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Anne.” Gilbert’s voice was quiet now, all traces of the frantic youth that had come through the door a moment ago gone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What were you saying, Gilbert?” Mary asked from behind him, her voice masterfully calm, but the glint in her eyes revealed her. He was startled by the sound of her question.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The lace on my skate broke,” he said, turning around to face her. “Do you know if we have some new ones?” Mary watched as the tips of his ears turned red, clearly embarrassed to be asking her this question in front of Anne. Despite his embarrassment, she thought it was sweet. She never minded the small favors he asked of her, the reminders she had to give. Though she longed for her own son, she was happy to see Gilbert through to adulthood-- real adulthood, not the frightening imitation he had been handed with his father’s illness and death, and not the terrible mockery she had been thrust into as a young mother.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We do,” she told him, hands folded around her belly, anticipating his next question.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um, where are they?” He asked, hand at the back of his neck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Honestly, Gilbert, how long have you lived in this house?” She teased, moving to stand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no, Mary! Don’t get up!” He said, helping her back into her seat. She smiled in gratitude. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They’re in the drawer underneath the cutlery,” she told him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anne continued to work the cookie dough, highly focused on not looking at Gilbert as he approached.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anne?” He said softly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What? What is it?” She asked, nearly dropping the spoon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re just in front of the drawer,” he said, one corner of his mouth pulling up in amusement. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” she took a step to the side. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soon Gilbert had taken the seat opposite Mary beside the fire, appearing to work diligently at changing out the laces. In reality, he listened closely to the sounds of Anne puttering about the kitchen, sneaking glances when he felt neither she nor Mary would see.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anne was just telling me how she’s determined to become more rational,” Mary said. Gilbert looked up from his skate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that true?” He asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she replied, chin firmly set in challenge. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But that would be a shame,” he told her. “Your imagination is wonderful.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She put down her useless spoon. “You think so?” She asked, voice quiet. He nodded. “Hmm…” She began her work again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anne, I think that’s all stirred. You should put those in the oven now before it’s too late and you have to go home,” Mary said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With this, Anne nodded, rolling out the dough and cutting out shapes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gingerbread men?” Gilbert asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Why? Do you not like them?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s not that,” he told her. “No one’s ever made any for me before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched as her forehead creased, saw how she bit her lower lip. It was quiet as the three sat around the fire, waiting for the cookies to bake. When she finally pulled them out of the oven, she tried to make quick work of frosting them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anne, you don’t need to frost them,” Mary told her. “It’s late. You should be getting home.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know, just hold on! I’m nearly done!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A few minutes later and Anne was dividing the cookies onto plates and draping tea towels over the batches so they would stay warm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Walk her home, Gilbert,” Mary instructed. “I don’t like either of you going out when it’s dark and icy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nodded and they both put on their coats. As they walked the short distance to Green Gables, he pointed out an owl to her. She told him of a fox she once knew. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Standing on the porch, she thrust a parcel into his hands. “These ones are for you,” she told him quickly. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” And with that she retreated into her home.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he returned home, he went back to the kitchen, looking over the tray with the remainder of the gingerbread, He chuckled over the messy work Anne had done, noticing the accidental cyclops and the people with no limbs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He went to join Bash and Mary in the living room, taking a seat on the couch. He peeled open his parcel to find three perfectly formed, perfectly frosted little hockey players. </span>
</p>
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